


the sky was yellow and the sun was blue

by dancebreaknervous



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, fob - Fandom
Genre: 70's au as well, Andy is gay, F/M, Gabe gives Pete drugs, M/M, Side Peterick, pete is also very gay, peterick on the side tho, veganism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 02:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancebreaknervous/pseuds/dancebreaknervous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joseph Mark Trohman is a man with a past to hide.<br/>Andy Hurley is a small-town man with a love for drumming and animals.<br/>Joe ran away from his problems, only to have Andy come in and wreck his Plan.<br/>70's Trohley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sky was yellow and the sun was blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> title- scarlet begonias by the grateful dead

Joe supposed that what he loved the most was the thrill. The community was great. The drugs and booze were better. The sex was always drunk and forgotten, but Joe assumed he was pretty well off in that category. The music made him swing, made him dance and feel things metal couldn't bring him. Joe’s life was straight in line from then on. His Plan was to be simple. Ignore the phone calls from your father. Don't fall in love. Don't knock anybody up. Die before thirty. Joe would never grow old here- he would be immortalized as what he was. The dude who lived in Pete Wentz’s van, the one who constantly smelled like weed and had eyes three times a normal size. He was fine with this.

There were, naturally, things he didn't enjoy. Not having a bed. Having to wear Pete’s vomit and (probably semen) stained clothes. And the fact that some people were assholes. It came in forms- people stealing your weed, people spilling their drinks on the only new shirt he’d get in months, but the worst was when they were awful to people who didn't deserve it. This came out in the form of the short man with the honey-brown hair and stubble, shaking in a crowd with an extended hand of flyers. Joe would take them sometimes, give the man a smile. It was never returned; a quick glance and an appreciative nod was all he got. Rather stoic. His eyes were always filled with fear. Fear of the ones who would come up and harass him, knocking the flyers to the ground and stepping on them so he couldn't pick them up. The slurred insults and the sharp jerks of Andy’s head were enough to make Joe’s heart break. 

It was a sunny day when Joe heard the shout. “Faggot! Fag!” Joe’s fist clenched automatically as he saw the man on the ground, scrambling for his flyers. Joe left the area with the boy under his arm and a balled up shirt (Pete’s, he'd have to sanitize himself later) to his eye.

Joe wasn't loving life so much.

The boy’s name was Andy. He did this thing where when he would talk, his gaze would go from Joe’s eyes to his own feet, mumbling to the floor. Joe thought it was cute. Sad, but cute. Andy was an edge vegan. When Joe lit his joint, Andy didn't freak. Just shrugged. Andy and Pete knew each other. However the fuck, he wasn't sure, but Pete knew everybody. Pete was the kind of guy who got you backstage by simply waving to a security guard. Pete was the kind of guy you wanted behind you in a fight. To Joe, Pete’s opinion on something was end-all. When the man said Andy was a good friend of his, Joe relaxed, taking the pills the other offered them and swishing them down with a lukewarm beer.

Joe’s jacket was warm in the bitter cold of the fuckifheknew night. Where was he? Pete had mentioned Wisconsin. Joe would go with Wisconsin. His lighter and his cig were warmer. Whiskey was hot, burning harshly as it passed through his lips and went straight down to his gullet. He tried to imagine the whiskey in his stomach. Swish, swish, swosh, akin to the tick, tick, tock of the clock in his family's old dining room. To be fair, they were both kinds of clocks. One was killing him and the other was destroying him. He didn't know which was which. His morbid thoughts made a drunken giggle rise though his throat. A girl was walking towards him. Nice curves, he decided. He wasn't sure if it was out loud. Within the minute they were in Pete’s van. Within ten, she was gone.

Pete entered afterwards, smirk obvious. “Have fun, man? Did you jizz on my socks again?”

Joe wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.

Andy was gay. Everyone knew, nobody said anything. Pete was too, but Joe kept that information to himself. The blonde, nervous, barely eighteen boy probably wouldn't like people to know he was getting sleeping with Pete Goddamn Wentz. So when Andy mentioned he had a girlfriend back home, Joe had laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. It took three seconds for Andy to process before the laughter rose from his throat and he giggled with Joe, the sound melting on Joe’s ears. Andy’s laugh sounded peaceful, like a swarm of monarch butterflies was escaping his lips. Joe would have to think about the next time Pete brought two vials and a sheet of stickers into the van. Knowing someone who knows someone was the best. It was the drugs minus the awkward and the money. 

Joe’s eyes closed. The closest warmth was Andy, who was still giggling. He pressed his face into Andy’s neck. The laughing stopped and that's the last thing Joe would remember before his eyes dropped abruptly closed.


End file.
